Clocked
by MariaShadow
Summary: G1. Tracks vs Sunstreaker, it's never a pretty sight.


Clocked

"I'm going to kill Prowl." Tracks wheezed as he collapsed to his hands and knees in the slush, the deadweight of his pack dragging him down further as rain pelted his once glossy metal hide.

"We'll hold 'im down for ya." Sideswipe managed to get out between gasps as he and his brother sat back to back, leaning on each other for support. Around them, Bluestreak, Mirage, Hound, Wheeljack, and Trailbreaker made similar noises of agreement as they all sat or knelt in the rain and attempted to catch their breath.

If anyone was going to be truly pedantic about it, it should really have all been blamed on Sunstreaker.

The whole fiasco had started when Hound and Sunstreaker came back from patrol one morning, having encountered several groups of Marines on a training mission deep in the forest. Sunstreaker, being the kind of mech that he is, made a comment about how easy it would have been for him and his twin to have completed the challenges he'd seen the humans slogging through.

Prowl overheard this, and to the despair of most of the Ark's occupants, made a few inquires. One thing led to another, which then led to the warriors being split into groups and in turns sent on a forced march through the forest; each carrying two tonnes of steel slabs in an improvised pack. Only Ratchet, Optimus and Prowl were exempt; the former so that he could fix any damage incurred during the training, and the latter so that they could monitor the exercises.

Privately however, Prime suspected that Ratchet had only authorised the exercise solely to exact revenge on his more frequent patients.

"I'm never going to get this mud outta my grill." Sunstreaker grumbled. "And I'm gonna be lucky to get through this forest without even more damage to my paint."  
"Shut it pretty-mech." Tracks snapped back. "Nobody wants to hear you whining. But then again, I'd say the mud actually improves your aesthetically _dis_-pleasing choice of garish yellow."

Sunstreaker's expression took on a dangerous edge. "Why you!" he spluttered as he lurched to his feet. "C'mere and say that to my face, you poor excuse for a factory reject!"

Both warriors were on their feet now, packs discarded and exhaustion forgotten. "Hey! That's enough!" Wheeljack shouted as he forced himself between the two. "If ya wanna fight, do it later. Now if you haven't forgotten, we've still got a way to go."

Grumbling and shooting poisonous glares at each other, the two mechs reluctantly turned away to collect their packs while Ironhide, whom had been designated the team leader, got the rest of the Autobots back on their feet and into some semblance of a column. Wisely, the old mech put as many warriors between Tracks and Sunstreaker as possible, although the mechs in between the pair didn't exactly appreciate the idea.

After another solid hour of marching through the rain, they spilled out into a wide, treeless basin, the majority of which was occupied by a large obstacle course set up by Hoist the previous week.

"Alrhaight!" Ironhide boomed. "Fer this section y'all need t' divide inta two teams. We're gonna race ya through, an' the quickest team gets t' hit the showers first."

A weary cheer was raised from the jaded warriors at the prospect of being clean and dry again.

"Each team's gonna have a captain," Ironhide continued, "An' that captain needs t' make sure his team gets through the obstacles. Now, if there's a challenge where y' ain't supposed to touch the ground and y' do, y'all got to do the challenge again. An' if ya skip somethang, y'll have t' do the whole course again. Sideswipe, Hound, git out here and pick yer teams. An don't even think about puttin' Tracks on the same side as Sunny-boy." He finished, aiming a pointed glare at the two captains.

In the end, it was Sideswipe, Sunstreaker , Wheeljack, and Trailbreaker verses Hound, Bluestreak, Tracks and Mirage.

"Now, on yer marks!" Ironhide called out as the two teams lined up behind their respective starting lines. "Git set, GO!"

Being designed for humans and not for giant robots, the course presented special challenges for the warriors. Trailbreaker for instance, having only one hand, had to run the length of the monkey bars three times to make up for his not being able to use them.

Crawling under the netting proved to be extra difficult for beings made out of metal and built with all kinds of projections and corners for the thick rope to catch on. Nobody was sure exactly how the twins and Mirage managed to get through it so easily, whereas Bluestreak somehow got so tangled he had to be cut free, costing his team precious seconds.

The net wall and rope swing were easily conquered, but Sideswipe and Sunstreaker nearly came to blows when the red Lambo slipped and fell off the balance beam, requiring his whole team to have to do the obstacle again.

Throughout the entire course the teams managed to stay about even, right up to the final sprint to the finish line. Tracks and Sunstreaker were the last two mechs on the field as they scrambled over the high wall and started pounding through the muddy grass.

"Give it up, wannabe." Tracks hissed.  
"You first try-hard!" Sunstreaker shot back as he leapt over a fallen tree. "You and your overdressed paint-job ain't got nothing on me."  
"Tasteless wretch."  
"Stuffed shirt moron."  
"Unrefined primitive!"

The rivals were neck and neck and still spitting insults at each other as they skidded around the final corner and slid to a halt at the finish line.

"Well?" Sideswipe demanded. "Who won?"

"Me of course." Tracks interrupted.  
"No way in the Pit! It was me!" The yellow twin protested.  
"Actually," Ironhide's drawl broke in, "It waz a tie. Ya both won." The feuding warriors gaped at him.

"And," the red mech continued, "Ya'll managed to clock the course record. So y' don't have t' do the course again. Now, git yer skidplates into gear and git back t' the Ark. On the double."


End file.
